


Your Affliction Leaves Me Wanting More

by Fickle_Obsessions



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Consensual Kink, Denial, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, First Meetings, First Time, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Meet-Cute, Rope Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-15 20:57:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8072506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fickle_Obsessions/pseuds/Fickle_Obsessions
Summary: Ben wants to try something new, but he needs a push. Lucky for him, he meets someone who is very good at giving people a push.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes my greatest joy in life is writing a story where I get to use the "meet-cute" tag and "rope bondage" tag together. Modern benwash rope d/s au as you do when you ask for ideas from tumblr. <3 (Un-beta'ed)
> 
> Please note: Parts of this story may seem accurate or realistic, but it was not specifically intended to be a realistic portrayal of a scene or aftercare.

Ben doesn’t know why he came, what he thought he was going to get out of it. He’s, well, he's figured out some things about himself lately. Very particular things that fit in with a very particular community, but this is too much. He’d found the club after some quick googling, and the reviews seemed positive, but now that he’s here it’s too much like exactly what he expected.

The walls have been painted black (of course), and the couches are a red sort of pleather that looks like it’s easy to wipe down. Almost everyone is wearing black (obviously), and those that aren’t look to be tourists for the night, couples who seem bored and married or new and curious. Ben appears to be the only idiot who thought it would be a good idea to come to a bondage club alone. 

He sips, miserable, on some sort of mocktail and intends to leave the moment it’s done. He’s in need of a real drink now and this place is annoyingly unable to serve alcohol.

In a corner, someone is getting strung up from the ceiling. She seems to be enjoying quite a bit, and everyone is watching, interested, as one of her legs is hoisted up high. She’s supported by the ropes and the toes of one foot struggling to find purchase on the floor. Ben finds the mixture of interest, embarrassment, and fruit juice not be all that enjoyable. He sets his drink down and turns toward the door. 

“Not what you expected?” asks a voice behind him. It sounds even, harmlessly curious. 

Ben turns back. The only person close enough to speak to him is a man standing on the other side of a red couch that lies between them. He’s not dressed in black, or at least not entirely. His slacks are a dark color in the dim light, they could be grey, or navy, or even cliche black. His dress shirt, however, is crisp and white. The sleeves are rolled up, putting thick forearms on display as he braces his hands on the back of the couch and leans on it. He’s clean cut, handsome, older than Ben -- by a decade, at least, maybe more. He looks ordinary, really, like he’s only just popped in here after working a very reasonable day job. 

The man raises his eyebrows at him when Ben is silent too long. 

“It’s pretty much exactly what I expected,” he answers finally. 

The man smirks, but it's not unkind. Ben doesn’t get the feeling that this guy is trying to make fun of him, or try to prove some point about how Ben doesn’t belong. He just seems interested, leaning forward against the back of the couch, and pondering Ben’s response. “If it’s what you expected, you either came here hoping you would like it anyway or you were hoping to be let down.”

That's technically accurate, however Ben isn't keen to admit it. The man seems nice enough but even if he wants to play armchair psychologist with Ben’s neuroses about getting what he wants that doesn’t mean Ben should take him up on it. Ben shrugs with a put upon sense of ease and takes another step towards the door. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Nice talking to you.”

He starts to turn away, but the man’s next question is almost immediate. “Did you actually venture anything?”

It's a bit prying, a bit more than just exchanging pleasantries. Ben looks back and sees the guy watching him closely, waiting for Ben’s answer with a hint of clear anticipation, not the passive curiosity of someone just making small talk. Ben realizes all at once that this guy is probably flirting with him. He freezes, unsure of what to do. He came here to be flirted with, right? To try something new? But he'd also just decided to leave. He ends up caught in a little bit of a loop, bouncing back and forth between both options. 

The guy takes pity on him, holds out his hand. It’s large, with a broad palm, thick fingers. His hand looks strong but neat, rather like the rest of him. “I'm George.”

Ben takes two steps closer to shake his hand over the back of the couch. “Ben.”

“You're curious,” George tells him. 

It seems impossible to deny so Ben nods, shrugging again. 

“You can learn a lot more by asking a question then you can by just leaving,” George points out.

“What makes you an expert?” Ben asks, feeling gullible but trying not to be. 

George considers his question, then shakes his head. “I don't carry a bondage business card if that's what you're hoping for. What kind of credentials do you need?”

Ben smiles, even finds himself thinking that this guy seems nice. Smart. Normal. It's not what he expected. It makes him feel like it would be okay to be put up a little less of a front. “I don’t know, actually. I’m just.” Ben dips his knees a bit awkwardly, knocks them against the couch in front of him, “Really out of my depth.” 

George smirks at him, but again it’s not unkind. “Actually I think you’re just dipping your toe in.” He seems genuinely interested by Ben's fumbling and that’s good because Ben has no idea how things get started in this kind of scene. He tilts his head at Ben, “What is it you’re trying to dive into?” 

That’s one way to get started, just coming out and saying it. It’s probably the right way, but Ben hesitates. George doesn’t seem surprised. 

“You don’t have to tell me, but if you want to tell someone you can tell me.” He gives Ben a moment to think about it, then adds, “And if you wanted, after you do, you can choose not to come back to this club and never see me again.” 

It still seems like a lot to ask when Ben still has trouble putting what he wants into a Google search bar, but the more he talks to George the easier it’s getting and the more that little knot of worry and shame in his stomach begins to unravel. 

“I’m-” he stops and takes a few deep breaths while George watches him patiently. “I mean, obviously, ropes? Being restrained? I mean I guess that’s why I came here.”

George nods at him, “And just to be clear, it’s you that wants to get tied up, right?”

Ben snorts, “That wasn’t obvious?” 

George makes a face like he’s too polite to say. “So you’re curious about ropes. Anything else?” 

Honestly that seems like plenty to admit, but it’s not the whole of it. Ben tries to sidestep though, “And the things that go along with it.” 

Raising his eyebrows, George says, “That can mean a lot of different things to a lot of different people.” 

Ben raises one shoulder up to his ear, acknowledging that’s probably true, then drops it without saying anything. 

George purses his lips for a moment, then offers up a solution. “What if I just ask you about a few things and you say ‘yes’ or ‘no?’” 

The offer honestly makes Ben feel a bit childish, but he still nods his head because it means he won’t have to say the actual words that would describe what he wants.

“Spanking?” George asks, and Ben’s grateful that he doesn’t make it sound creepy, doesn’t look Ben in the eye and ask ‘would you like to be spanked?’ with this knowing undertone. He just asks it like it’s a drink option. Coffee or tea? Beer or wine? Spanking or no spanking? 

Ben nods, admits that, yes, he wants that.

George doesn’t gloat about it, just nods and moves on to the next thing. “Something with even more impact than spanking?” 

“Um.” Ben's not entirely sure about that. “Maybe. I don’t really know.” 

“Hair pulling?” 

He says it so bluntly, so matter-of-factly, Ben tries to do the same when he answers. He ignores how he gets goosepimples on his arms when he says, “Yes.” 

“Humiliation?” 

And just like that Ben's fragile little show of confidence gets whipped away and he's left shyly shaking his head. He doesn’t want to be called names, spat on. He knows that’s a thing for some people but he thinks it just would really not work for him. 

George asks him about just a few more things, whether Ben wants to be given orders to follow, whether he wants blindfolds and gags, or to try edging, and Ben answers, “yes,” “maybe,” and “I’m not sure.” The back of his neck feels hot with just agreeing in the smallest possible way that yes, these are things he likes, that he could like. Ben tries not to show how much just this, just _talking,_ is affecting and tries to keep his breathing carefully measured.

Once George has gotten all of Ben’s secrets, he just thinks them over for a moment, and shrugs. He shrugs and says, “I don’t think you’ll have any trouble finding that. It’s all pretty common. You can ask for it, or wait for someone to ask you. Just start small. Maybe only add one new thing at a time.” 

Ben blinks, “That’s it?” 

George nods at him like he isn’t sure what else there could possibly be. “It’s not exactly rocket science. Everything you probably read about this was more or less right. Keep it safe and sane, listen to your instincts. The hardest thing to do is just to start talking to people, start asking. Now you have.”

Ben feels… actually a little let down. A moment ago he'd felt flush with the thrill of telling a guy, a dom, what he was into, what he could be into. He'd been waiting for some sign that things might be getting started, and feeling lucky that it would be coming without any of the extra accessories. No costume, no cuffs, no eyeliner. Just a good looking guy, some rope, and the willingness to use it. Now it turns out that it's just good advice, someone helping out the new guy. 

He might have expected it, that people wouldn’t come here looking for newbies who don't know what they're doing. Not sure what to do now, Ben stands there mulling over what George said, and hears again the words, “You can ask for it.”

Oh. _Oh._

“Would you um-” Ben says before he even has a chance to think it through. George immediately stops looking so casual and friendly. The little half smile on his lips drops and he focuses intently on Ben as he struggling to say the words. “Is. Is that all something you would do?”

George gives Ben a long, serious look, then says, “It is.” Ben notices he does not answer the unspoken question. 

Ben licks his lips, swallows around a throat suddenly gone dry. He reminds himself of the other thing George said, he can walk out of this club and never see George again if he doesn't want to. And if George rejects him, yeah, that's gonna be basically the only option, but at least it's an option. 

Ben takes the leap. “Would you be willing to do any of that to me?”

A slow smile spreads across George's lips, and eyes get just a little heavy lidded. For the length of a breath he just looks at Ben, then he says, “Good boy.”

Ben goes hot at just two little words. Ben swallows again, liking the praise, overwhelmed that George is still watching him so carefully. “Oh. Um.” It should be ridiculous, corny, but it’s not at all. George doesn’t look lecherous, he looks honed in, fixed on Ben and pleased by what he sees. Ben doesn't really know how to respond, but he goes for it. “Okay. How?”

George pushes away from the back of the couch and comes around to Ben’s side of it. The closer he gets, the taller he appears and the smaller Ben feels. He doesn’t crowd Ben, he just gets one step closer than the average person on the street. Ben looks up at him, rooted to spot, but he can’t look George in the eye for very long and ends up staring instead at the five o’clock shadow coming in on George’s neck. 

“Let's start small,” George says. His voice is different, not so light, not so casual. It’s measured, and pitched low, just for Ben to hear. “How about I just tie your hands and you tell me if you like it?”

If Ben's dick is any kind of accurate barometer, he's going to like it a lot. It’s perked right up just with George’s proximity, and the idea of letting him tie his hands. 

“Yeah,” Ben says, eager. “Yes. Here?”

George raises his eyebrows at him again, “I'm not going to take you anywhere private for your first time.” He nods toward a corner, “There's a booth over there. If you don't want people watching.”

Ben looks over, it's more of a cubicle than a booth, open ended, but out of the way. He thinks he'd much prefer that, especially considering he already feels self-conscious about what's going on in his jeans. They go over and George, Ben discovers, has a bag. A leather messenger bag filled with various things, but what Ben primarily sees when George opens it is rope. Lots of rope made with some sort of blonde fiber. 

Looking up and finding Ben staring at it, George takes what he needs, one little bundle of rope and flips the lid of the bag over. “Do you have a safe word you like to use?”

“Oh, um,” Ben winces. George must be thinking he’s too naive, but he doesn’t seem surprised. “I probably should have thought of one before this. Uh.” 

“How about red for ‘full stop,’ yellow for ‘too much?’” Ben nods. It makes sense. George gives him a small smile, “But if you want to just say ‘stop,’ say it. There's no magic to it. I’m going to listen to you.”

“Okay,” Ben bites his bottom lip and fidgets. “Sounds good.” He watches George unraveling a length of rope until he finds the midpoint, pulling it through his hands in long, firm tugs. 

Once George has the rope how he wants it, he looks up at Ben. “Give me your hands.” 

Ben's stomach is tight with a very heady combination of fear and arousal. It's not bad, it's the same type of fear he feels jumping off the rope swing into the lake, all excitement, nerves, a little voice in the back of his mind saying over and over again that this is crazy. He gives George his hands. 

“I'm going to tie them together and they're going to stay that way until the scene is over. And it can be over at any time.” George winds the rope around his wrists, giving him a lovely set of cuffs and tying them tight. “But you need to tell me if anything goes numb or tingly.” 

Finished, George drops his hands away and gives Ben a moment just to feel it, how he can't wiggle out of the bind, how firmly he is held. The rope is soft, but there's no give. 

“Do you like it?”

Ben looks up, realizes his lips are parted and licks them. “Yeah.”

“It feels nice?”

It seems kind of silly, all George did was tie his hands, but Ben likes it just as much as he thought he would. “It does.”

George looks him in the eye, and he's not flattered, he’s stern. “And what do you say when someone gives you something nice?”

Ben's stomach turns over, nervous, turned on. That little hint of a paternal tone is really doing something to him. It’s hot, thinking that he’s got to work to do this right for George, got to prove himself. 

“Thank you,” he says, and surprises himself by how soft and trembling his voice sounds. But George keeps looking at him, expectant. It wasn’t enough. Ben’s thrown back a bit into when he was young and an authority figure would remind him the pay the proper respect. Ben swallows and says. “Thank you, sir.”

It's almost a whisper but he gets another smile, another appreciative, “Good boy.”

Cheeks burning, Ben looks back down at his bindings, finds himself wondering, “What now?” 

George chuckles at him, sounding more charmed than dismissive. “Well, they’re my hands now. So it’s whatever I choose to do.” He reaches out and gives them a little tug, not enough to unbalance Ben and make him stumble, just a little reminder that what George says is true. Ben’s cock, thickened up in his jeans, jumps in sympathy to the tug on his wrists.

“I don’t have to do anything with them at all,” George drawls, easy and relaxed where Ben is all jittery nerves. “I can just make you wait for as long as I want.” Ben’s heart starts beating harder at the possibility of _nothing,_ and he’s already given up trying to hide it from George because it’s clear he’s really got Ben’s number. Probably did from the start. 

“But,” George says, as if he’s just thinking out loud, “if I’m going to do that I may as well hang you up so I can look at you.”

Ben’s not sure what that means, but he doesn’t have to. George does. He tugs on the ropes on Ben’s wrists and Ben has to follow him where he goes, a puppet on a string, a dog on a leash. George brings him over to the partition shielding them from view. It does not extend much further than the top of their heads and at the end of the partition there’s a little nub, two inches of a wood peg, affixed to the top. 

George lifts Ben’s bound wrists up and hangs them from that peg, and it definitely does not feel like nothing. It feels like an awful lot. He’s suddenly stretched out, and there’s some primal, ‘oh shit’ sense of having his stomach exposed like this, defenseless, when George could do anything. George doesn’t take advantage of it, though, doesn’t grab or grope or press against him. He watches Ben get used to it, and explore the limitations of the position. If Ben went up on his tiptoes he might be able to unhook himself, but he doesn’t want to, not even a little bit. He has no control right now, and he doesn’t want it. He’s at someone's mercy and that is exactly where he wants to be. 

When his heart isn’t beating quite so fast, Ben looks at George, wondering what he thinks of him this way, and it seems pretty damn obvious he's liking what he sees. He's looking at Ben like he wants to swallow him whole, eyes alight and barely blinking. Ben looks down at himself, trying to get an idea of what George is seeing and what he sees is his chest pushed out, his torso elongated, and a strip of his belly showing where his t-shirt is lifted up. There's a line of sparse hair disappearing into Ben's jeans where they're now sagging low on his hips and when he glances up it seems like George quite fixated on it, but he just looks. He doesn't reach out and touch, even though Ben really kind of wishes he would. Wishes he would, at least, until he remembers where they are. 

It's surprisingly easy to forget, to feel like it's just them here. If he thinks about it he can hear the music, the murmur of conversation, but if he looks at George and pulls a little on the ropes, it all falls away. 

He wants more, wants George to do something, but all he’s getting is George’s eyes traveling over his body. Ben tries to think of what he can do, and gets sudden inspiration. He waits for George to look him in the eye again, holds his gaze, and then drops his eyes to floor. 

“Thank you, sir.” 

He looks up immediately and watches how the words make George relax even further, limbs looser as he takes a few steps to look at Ben from another vantage point. It puts George’s back to the rest of the club, makes Ben feel hemmed in, protected. 

“You like knowing I can do whatever I want, don't you?” Ben sighs softly, not contradicting him, but not agreeing, but George isn’t satisfied with that. He leans forward and demands, “Answer me.” 

“Yes,” he says quickly. Then he remembers to add, “Sir.” He’s beginning to pant just a little, and it's sort of crazy how wound up he is. He wishes George would push him, give him a reason to feel so overwhelmed and aroused. He wishes George would put that big hand on his exposed stomach and push it up under his shirt. He bites his lip to keep from begging. 

As if he knew what Ben was thinking, what Ben was wanting, George says, “You don't get anything this time.” His voice is very low and very close to Ben's ear. “You're too fresh, you're too new. But I can tell you're trainable.”

With every word Ben's breathing gets more rapid and shallow. His cock is firming up from half hard to completely ready to go and he can't hide it. He sees George notice it, sees George smirk. He doesn’t tease, doesn’t bring his hand or his thigh up close but just short of contact. He just enjoys it, Ben’s helpless arousal, his frustrated wanting, like it’s a gift for him, like it belongs to him. 

“You want me to train you, don't you?”

Ben tells himself not to say it, not without knowing what he's agreeing to, but he blurts it out anyway. “Yes, sir.”

George smiles, just a little smug this time. “Well, I'll take that under consideration.”

“What will you do?” Ben asks. He sees a spark in George’s expression, a little flare of something under the cool demeanor. Ben looks down again, shows his lashes, he thinks George likes that. “When you train me, sir. What will you do?” 

He's not going to get it today apparently, but surely he can hear about it, use it as fantasy material later tonight and probably for the next few weeks if he's being honest. 

George gets a little closer, but still vexingly holds himself apart. Ben would be alright, more than alright, if George just pressed along his side, or took his hips in his hands, but he gets nothing. The lack of contact somehow makes being able to smell George's cologne feel so much more intimate, and Ben takes a deep breath of it while he waits for George to speak.

“How am I going to train you?” George asks. He sounds a little breathier, a little like he’s marveling at the question, and Ben blushes, pleased to hear he made an impact. 

“Well,” he says. “To start I’d get you so used to my ropes that you start to feel safe in them. Start to love the feel of them on you, against your skin. If you were very, very good I’d give you a harness to wear under your clothes so you're thinking of this all day.” Ben whimpers just a little at the thought of that, going about his day, _God,_ going to work with a hint of this hidden underneath his shirt and only he would know. Just him and George.

George seems to like hearing him, gets just a little closer so that when he speaks Ben can feel a brush of hot breath over his ear, his neck. “Like that idea? You in my ropes all day?”

Ben nods furiously. 

“Words,” George says, tersely correcting him.

“Yes, sir,” Ben breathes. “I like it. A lot.”

George hums, sounding very happy with the idea himself. He leans back and looks Ben up and down like he’s imagining what he could do, what knots he could put on Ben to show him off, make him look good in George’s ropes. Ben wants to see it, too, wishes he could look down and see an intricate web holding him in. It’d be good, he thinks, it’d be so good.

Still watching Ben carefully, George leans in, drops his voice, makes it low and soft and just a little dangerous. “And then I’d find the kind of hurt you like and I’d work you over with it. Spank you ‘til you're pink, listen to you moan and thank me for it.”

Ben’s knees are weak enough that being hung on the peg is a lucky thing. He has always had an active imagination and right now it’s showing him everything, every possible thing, and it’s not bothering to censor. He gets an image of himself across George’s lap and exhales a shuddering breath. 

Somewhere, that same voice that’s been saying how crazy this is from the start is still going. He doesn’t know George, not really, and Ben’s never really been one for casual hook ups. He’ll do them, they happen, but he’s never felt like if he didn’t get on his knees in front of a guy, like, _right now_ he’d be missing out on something. But George isn't just your average rough top, he's more. He's filling up all the spaces Ben usually finds empty with a stranger. That George is able to make Ben feel so helpless and owned with just a little length of rope and his voice makes him seem so much stronger than most of the guys Ben's been with. 

“I’d take weeks to get you ready,” George tells him, and he sounds pretty emphatic. It’s the first time his voice has gotten forceful. Ben looks up at him, and finds himself on the other side of intense gaze traveling all over his face, down his body. It flicks up now and again to look Ben’s bound hands. “I'd make you beg me for it.”

Ben gasps, pushes out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. 

“It's driving me crazy,” George growls, hot enough to melt Ben’s spine. “That you could have wound up doing this with someone else. Let someone else do this to you when you're so sweet and receptive and so obviously made for this.”

The realization that this is not just another day at the shop for George is almost too much for Ben. George isn't working off a script, isn't going through the motions, he's owning Ben because he had to have him. 

“I saw you come in and I was ready to wait for hours for you to work up your courage.”

Hearing how badly he’s wanted makes Ben hiss, “Fuck, _fuck._ ”

“And what do you do? You almost leave. Made me have to hurry to catch you.” George sounds like he finds it so rude that Ben almost deprived him of the chance to ease Ben through his first time. “But now I've got you, don't I?” And he makes it sound so good, and Ben wants it. Badly.

Ben ends up whining, high and hurt, because it’s actually almost physically painful to him not have any kind of pressure, any kind of touch right now. He twists around, trying to press up against George but he can’t, unable to get very far because his wrists are still hanging from the peg. Frustrated, he whines even louder. 

George shushes him, but Ben can’t be bothered with obedience when he needs so much, needs him so bad. He starts to babble, “Please, sir, _please,_ I-” and for a moment Ben’s convinced the pleading is working because George’s hand is moving, coming up, and God he wants it on him, anywhere. He really does mean it, he’ll take any kind of contact George will give him, but he’s still not expecting for George’s hand to come up and cover his eyes. 

“Hush.” George’s voice in the darkness sounds very firm, not to be ignored. When Ben goes still, George says, “You’ve gotten just a little too wound up.” 

“Sorry, sorry,” Ben says, tight and upset. He's mortified because his emotions feel like they’ve suddenly been turned up to eleven and he can't bring them down. 

“No,” George says, crooning at him just slightly. “It’s fine. It’s. I wanted to wind you up, I liked seeing it.” Ben takes a deep breath, grateful he hasn't ruined it, grateful George liked it. “But right now I want you to listen to my voice. Can you do that that?”

“Yes,” Ben says. 

“Because you’ve been very, very good for me I’m going to give you just a little bit of something to feel while you come down.” Ben jerks when he feels George’s other hand skim over his shirt, but he’s not trying to move away from it, he’s pushing into it the second he realizes what it is. 

George’s fingers find a nipple and pinch, hard enough to hurt, but only just. Ben gasps, because it's a surprise, because it hurts, because it feels good. He tries to hold his breath but that makes the pain worse, so he makes himself breathe through it with long inhales, slow exhales. 

When he starts getting used to it, George gives it just a little extra twist, and asks, “Feel that?”

Ben hums, finding words to be a challenge while he’s trying to memorize on the press of George’s palm over his eyes and the dull ache where his nipple is clamped between two firm fingers. His breathing has evened out, he could stay like this a while. He doesn’t know why it helps but it does, it brings his feet back down to the ground.

“Answer me,” George says, firmly. 

“Yeah,” Ben says. Thinks again, remembers what George likes and says, “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“Good boy,” George says, and Ben smiles, relieved. He feels good, he feels perfect. Even the little voice that kept insisting this was fucked up is quiet. A moment later, George releases his nipple and rubs his palm over Ben’s shirt to soothe it. Ben pushes up on his toes to press against it. “Think you’re ready to come down?” 

He thinks about it. Ben could stay like this, but he doesn’t have to. Checking back into his body makes him realize his shoulders are getting a little tired from the position, and some of his fingertips are numb just from being held up over his head for so long. He isn’t even hard anymore though it wouldn’t take much to get him back there. It would probably be a good idea to stop.

“Yes.”

“I’m going to take my hand away,” George warns him, and then he does. Ben blinks as his eyes adjust to the light. George reaches up and unhooks Ben’s hands from the peg, and brings them down. The knot he tied seems to be quick release, and soon the rope is loose and falling away from Ben’s wrists.

He kind of misses it. 

“Stay right there a moment,” George tells him, and Ben listens. He stays leaning against the partition, wiggling his fingers, tapping them against his thumbs to encourage the circulation. He waits to see if there’s going to be a sudden rush of embarrassment or shame now that he’s in his right mind again, but there isn’t. George isn’t suddenly changed, either. He’s still tall and calm and he makes the task of recoiling his rope seem perfectly mundane. Ben still likes looking at him. 

“What do you think?” George asks when the rope is tucked away and everything seems to be more or less concluded. 

Ben tries to think of what to say and ends up laughing. George smiles at him as he giggles, giddy, apparently taking it as a good sign. Ben gets himself under control eventually and shrugs, “Zero complaints.” He looks at George again and sighs, “It was good. Really good. Thank you.” 

He doesn’t say it like he did before, it’s not a part of a game. He’s genuinely grateful. He came here just wanting to try something and not find it awful and instead he’s standing here wishing he had the courage to ask George back to his place. 

Somehow he doesn’t think George would say yes anyway. He’s too patient, and he seems to like the patience. Ben can deal with that. He’s going to come back. If he has to hang around George like a pathetic groupie to get this again, well, he’s strongly considering it. 

George looks him over, maybe for some sign that it’s alright to leave. Ben does his best to look like he's all there again. He pushes off of the partition and stands up under his own power, meets George’s gaze steadily. George looks away first, looks down as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls something out. A little leather case, just about the size of a business card. 

“I thought you said you don’t carry a card,” Ben teases. 

“Well, I don’t. At least, not for this.” He pulls a card from the case and holds it out for Ben to take if he wants it. 

Ben reaches for it immediately. It really is just an ordinary business card with ordinary information: George Washington, Executive Vice President, and a company name Ben doesn’t recognize. His office and mobile number are at the bottom. Nice.

“I don’t have one for you,” Ben says, regretful, but George waves his hand, dismissing the thought.

He shoulders his messenger bag and nods at Ben, “You contact me if you want.” 

“Okay,” Ben says, sliding the card into his pocket. “I will.” George smiles, just a little, before he walks away. 

Ben practically floats all the way to his car. 

 

Later George’s phone trills at him, and when he looks down he sees it’s Alex calling. “Hello, Alex.”

Alex’s voice comes in, soft and sleepy. “Hi, daddy.” 

George rolls his eyes. Alex only calls him that because he knows it makes George feel ridiculous. “You’re feeling better, I gather.”

“I napped,” Alex agrees. Over the phone it sounds like he’s stretching. “I hate people so much, George. And I had to be with people for _hours_ at the DMV.” 

“I’m sorry,” George says without much sympathy. “Is this a social call, Alex, or do you need something?” 

“I just wanted to see if you were doing all right. You sounded... tense earlier.” 

George sighs, he probably did not take Alex’s refusal to come out gracefully. They know each other well enough not to bother with apologies, though. “It was not a particularly good day at work.”

“Yeah, I figured. You usually don’t ask for stuff in public unless it is.” Alex doesn’t ask for details and George isn’t surprised because they’re not dating. They work together because of just that, they work together. Their needs align very well, but after a scene Alex is just too manic and irrepressible to handle George’s need for calm and easy. Still, Alex sound sincere when he says, “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you out. I’m feeling better, though. Do you still-”

“No,” George says, cutting him off. “I’m good.” He tries to keep it light, inconsequential, but Alex is too sharp. He hears the potential for gossip and pounces. 

“Really?” he asks, sounding very intrigued. “Was Lafayette there?” 

“Lafayette is still in France and you know it.” 

“Well,” Alex prompts. “Who then?” 

George tries, futilely, to demur. “Just some kid.” 

“A virgin?" Alex sounds delighted. "You fucked a virgin?” 

George actually looks at the phone, because really, it’s like Alex flat out refuses to believe George is as principled as he says he is. He puts the phone back to his ear, “I absolutely did not fuck a virgin, Alex. I just tied his hands and got a little toppy with him, that’s all.”

“Well?” Alex wants to know. “How was he?” 

George pulls in a breath and tries to find the words. But all he’s got is, “He was perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am [tumblr](http://fickleobsessions.tumblr.com), frequently being shameless.


End file.
